Once beyond outskirts of Bremkin the group were able to drop their magical shielding and continued under the simpler cover of darkness. No one was on the roads at this hour, nor likely to be. Which is why they were taken by surprise at  the sound of pounding hooves coming up the road from behind them when they were perhaps half way to the Gate.

From the volume of sound, it was a large group, which was fortunate as it gave them enough warning to hide themselves in the deep shadows of trees to the side of the road. From this vantage they were able to watch the twenty horsemen gallop by without themselves being seen – impossible to tell who they were in these moonless hours before sunrise, except that they looked like soldiers.

After the troop were well gone down the road, the Hand emerged from their covert and resumed their own brisk march toward escape. Or at least as brisk as the injuries of Devrik and Mariala would allow. A quiet debate as to the nature and intentions of the horsemen was carried on in hushed tones.

“I don’t think they were hunting for us,” Korwin suggested. “They went by far to quickly to be searching. They had a number of remounts, too – it seems they had a destination in mind, not a hunt.”

“Unless they simply wish to get out ahead of us, and make a slow progression back along the road for a proper search,” Devrik growled. He was beginning to take a chill, despite the mild night and continuing exercise, and his healing burns itched to drive him mad. Mariala seemed entirely focused on her own misery.

“Or set up a road block beyond any possible distance we could’ve made on foot, and simply wait for us to catch up,” Erol added, running a finger under the collar still clasped around his neck, in unconscious irritation.

With that unsettling thought in mind, it was decided to sent the Shadow Warrior Khundari ahead a long arrow shot to scout for road blocks or ambushes. Toran flitted through the night shadows along side the road, as invisible as any magic could have made him. He saw no sign of the horsemen, or anyone else.

The sun was just breaking the horizon when the group reached the narrow path that broke off from the main road and led to the glade in the dense woods where stood the Gate. Toran waited for them silently, reporting no sign of the night’s galloping riders, and together they all headed into the woods.

A ring of ancient standing stones, worn with age and many tilted or even fallen over, encircled the invisible portal that would take them to safety. Vulk, in better physical shape than Devrik, stepped forward to begin the ritual that would open the Nitaran Gate, the others crowded close behind.

But before he had done no more than open his mouth, there was a rustle from the dark woods outside the circle of stones, and twenty men appeared suddenly all around them. Half of them had crossbows, cocked and aimed at the party, others had javelins poised to throw, and the leader had his gladius drawn. Even in the uncertain light of dawn and through morning mists that had arisen, it was clear these were soldiers of the Kildoran Legions.

“I suggest you throw down you weapons, my friends, and surrender peacefully,” the leader said calmly but with an implacable certainty. “And I know there are T’ara Kul amongst you, so at the first sign of speech or any hand movements unrelated to laying down your weapons, my men will shoot –  one of your companions.”

Vulk opened his mouth to maybe negotiate, but at a cocked eyebrow from the commander, and the movement of the weapons of the men to either side of him, he shut it with a snap. Devrik tensed, but even in his rage at this ambush he knew that he would only get his friends killed if he attacked. If it was just himself… but he had a wife and child to think of now, as well… and as long as he was alive, there would be other chances to act. He slowly drew his battlesword from over his shoulder and laid it on the turf at his feet.

The others followed his lead, and in moments soldiers moved amongst them, searching them, binding their hands, and gagging their mouths. A dozen ranged weapons remained trained on them until they were mounted on horses brought into the glade from the woods. Once they were secured to their saddles the rest of the troop mounted up, and they began the ride back towards Bremkin.

But, in fact, it was not to Bremkin that they were bound, but to a large military encampment set up to the east of the town. It was obviously the Kildoran Legion that had been sent to secure the newly returned town, and they were taken to a large tent near the center of the camp. There they were again searched, this time by several bookish-looking men who seemed to know what they were looking for, and every possible tool, spell aid or artifact was taken from them. They were unbound and ungagged, and left alone in the otherwise empty tent. A quick peek out the flaps proved that they remained physically well-guarded, and the oppressive feeling of weight that pressed down on the minds of the T’ara Kul told them that the tent was warded against magic.

Nonetheless, Korwin attempted to cast Klordia’s Shadow Body, only to have it not only fail, but leave him with a blinding headache. Seeing the wards woven into the fabric of the tent flare briefly at his attempt, the others didn’t even bother to try.

It was perhaps an hour later, around noon, that the tent flaps were suddenly drawn back and two heavily armed, tough-looking soldiers stepped in and took up position on either side of the opening. They were followed by a dark haired, serious-looking man of middle height and middle years, with amazingly penetrating eyes of sea gray. As soon as he stepped into the tent, his presence seemed to fill it. There was little doubt as to who he was – Satirnus, the fabled general of the Kildoran Republic, now Marshal and Magistrate. The two women and one man who followed him hardly seemed to register at all in the umbra of his personality.

“So,” he said after examining his captives for a moment, “this is the desperate band of would-be rebels who disrupted our planned festivities, released a gaggle of condemned prisoners, and unleashed a giant on the countryside… interesting.”

“And kidnapped a high-ranking adherent of the God!” cried one of the man’s companions, a short woman with dark brown hair and a fierce, hawk-like face. Her eyes burned in fury at the the prisoners. “Where is the Deputy Grandmaster, Satirnus?”

“My troops found no sign of the man, Karin,” Satirnus said mildly. “My men are still searching along the route these rogues took, but haven’t found a body or other sign. I’m beginning to think they didn’t take him as a hostage after all.”

“Hostage?” Erol blurted out. “The bastard was dead when we left him–”

At Mariala’s jab in his back he suddenly shut up.

Satirnus’ eyebrows shot up, and his companions looked darkly at one another.

“Well, that is an interesting development,” the Marshal-Magistrate said, with the hint of a smile.

“So where might our missing cantor be, do you suppose? Eh, Grandmistress Kantal?” He turned to look at the older woman standing behind him, and the tall, brutal-looking man at her side. “Any ideas of your own, Grandmaster Merbed?”

The older woman frowned and waved off the question. “This is a matter for the Orders involved… we will want to question these rebels once you are done with them Satirnus. I’m sure we can pull the information we need from them –”

She broke off at the suddenly cold expression on Satirnus’ face, and bowed her head. “If that suits you, of course, Marshal-Magistrate.”

“Internal orderial politics holds little interest for me, as long as they don’t intrude on my own affairs,” he said turning back to the prisoners. “But let’s not pretend any of you actually liked Tramano, eh? What was it you called him? A prissy little parasite?

“So, on to more pressing issues… our young guests. From the description of recent events it seemed obvious T’ara Kul were involved, and my own intense military study of this area over the years led me to believe you might well head for the nearest Gate. So, while the Korönian Orders sent men toward the Arushali border, I sent my own to cut off the Gate. And so here we all are.

Now, what does it all mean? What exactly were you about? The Grandmistress here, and her associates, think your are Darikazi rebels… but my sources tell me that you are a rather international lot – Kildoran, Arushali, Nolkiori – do you have a native Darikazi amongst you at all?”

“We are not Darikazi,” Vulk stepped forward. “As you have noted, my lord, we are from several nations, and are here only to free our friend from an illegal captivity at the hands of Korönian slavers.”

“None of that ‘my lord’ nonesense,” Satirnus waved his hand as though swatting away a fly. “In the Republic we are all citizens, all equal under the law. You may address me simply as Marshal-Magistrate. But why do you say this captivity was illegal?”

And so Vulk began an edited recitation of Erol’s capture by the Taruthani, and the riding of his friends to deliver him. He tried to avoid too many specifics, but Satirnus was not only a commanding personality, but a shrewd interrogator, and by the time it was over he’d learned more than enough about who they were. But certainly not all..

“But how did you come to be a gladiator to begin with,” he asked Erol once Vulk finished his story. “If you were legitimately the Order’s property, then your escape was illegal and your recapture perfectly legal – and this whole escapade quite illegal.”

“ I was never legitimately a slave, Marshal-Magistrate,” Erol grated out. “I was a prisoner of war, never ransomed but instead sold to the Games. I was, and am, a citizen of the Republic, a Legionaire, and no man’s slave!”

Satirnus looked surprised. “A prisoner of war? That’s the first I’ve heard of this… what war, and where were you taken prisoner?”

“I was a soldier in the Topaz Legion, based in Olyron, under the command of General Jardin Kereth. I was captured during his failed attempt to retake this very town from the Darikazi who had stolen it.”

“By Tanar, you were caught up in the mess of that fool Kereth? It’s a lucky thing he died during his stupid raid, or he’d have been hung by his thumbs and whipped to death!” Satirnus’ sudden rage seemed to fill the tent for a moment before he regained control of himself.

“But I certainly don’t blame the men who followed him,” he went on after a moment. “It is a soldiers duty to follow the orders of his commanders, and the dishonor of that episode lies solely on head of the man who conceived it.

“Still, it is a common practice to sell unransomed men taken in war… both in Darikaz and in the Republic. I don’t see this as a defense –”

“I was never allowed to send word to my family,” Erol interrupted. Which was a lie, he’d simply been too proud and too sure his father wouldn’t ransom him because he’d defied him and run off to join the Legion. But no need for Satirnus to know that. “Tremano saw me and… wanted me. He refused to let me be ransomed.”

Satirnus frowned and turned darkly on his companions. “Is this true?” he asked in a deceptively mild voice. The others stepped back a pace.

“We have no way of knowing, Marshal-Magistrate,” Grandmistress Kantal said nervously. “With Tramano… missing… it’s possible that he did this. But that is a matter for his own Order, and not of the Burning Blood. These crimes were committed against us though, and we–”

“Actually,” Vulk interrupted, “that raises an interesting point, Marshal-Magistrate. Is not the town of Bremkin today once again a part of the Republic?”

“Yes,” Satirnus answered, looking speculatively at the young man before him. “As of dawn this morning, the traditional timing for such things.”

“But these ‘crimes’ we are accused of were committed last night, while Bremkin was still in the hands of its conquerors, the Darikazi. I do not stipulate that they were crimes, of course, but if they were they took place in another country. We stand now in the Republic of Kildora, not in the Kingdom of Darikaz.”

Satirnus laughed suddenly, a surprisingly big laugh for a man his size. “Young man, I usually have little use for such legal pettifoggery, but I must say I admire your balls! Indeed I do, big brass ones!”

As his laughter died down Crasel Merbed, Grandmaster of the Order of the Fist of Shangtor stepped forward. “It is legal smoke-blowing, Marshal-Magistrate, and of no consequence in any case – the crimes committed were against the Church of Korön, and such fall under religious law, not secular! All three Orders so sinned against are recognized in both Darikaz and in the Republic, so it matters not in which secular realm we now stand, they must answer to Korönian justice!”

The humor had drained from his face during this speech, and now Satirnus frowned in irritation. Before he could say anything, though, Grandmistress Kantal added her two pennies.

“Surely, Satirnus, we should not let such matters interfere with our… joint interests. What do such as these matter to you? What can they offer you but division and strife? Turn them over to the Church, and let us move on to the weighty matters we came here to discuss.”

From the sour look on his face it was clear that Satirnus didn’t like the suggestion – but it was also quickly apparent that he wasn’t going to argue with it. Whatever politics these four were involved in, it obviously meant more to him than the fate of a handful of stangers…

Before he could speak, however, he was again preempted, this time by Korwin. His headache had begun to fade, and a sudden thought spurred him to speak.

“But perhaps we do have something to offer you sir,” he said smoothly and confidently. “Something that might matter a great deal to you… one way or another.”

“What could you possible have that would be of interest to one such as the great General,” Deputy Grandmistress Karin Delvano sneered, backed up by snorts of derision from her co-religionists. Satirnus merely cocked a curious eyebrow at him.

“We know the location of the Onyx Throne.”

The silence in the tent was absolute for one tense moment. Then bedlam broke loose. The Hand shouted over one another, a confused mixture of berating Korwin and denying his assertion, while the Korönians exclaimed in various modes of disbelief. Only Satirnus stood silent and thoughtful, taking it all in.

After a moment he raised his hand, and the babbling died out.

“I have always had an almost infallible sense of when I am being lied to. It’s one of the skill that have kept me alive all these years in the shark pool of Senatorial politics. Between that and the fact that half his friends are berating him for revealing this thing, while the other half are denying that it’s true, I’m inclined to believe him…

“But young man, why do think the location of the Onyx Throne would be enough to buy your freedom? What do you imagine it means to me?”

Korwin saw the dangerous gleam in the great man’s eyes, and knew he had to tread carefully. In the days since they had discovered the lost throne, his companions had filled him in on much of its history and the current state of affairs within the Republic – not least of which, was the general belief of a great many people that the ex-General had ambitions to restore Imperial Kildora, with himself at the helm.

If this was true, then the Onyx Throne, missing since the demise of the last legitimate heirs of the Empire, would be an incredible boon to his own legitimacy. If it wasn’t true, and he merely schemed to senatorial power, it would still enhance his stature to be the one who returned this important cultural and historical artifact to its proper people. Perhaps best to go with the latter assumption…

“Returning the throne to its rightful place and people would greatly enhance your standing with the citizens, and would surely make immune to the schemes of those senators who oppose your own vision for the Republic,” he said without missing a beat.

Satirnus slowly smiled, giving the young Oceanian an approving nod. The boy wasn’t stupid; perhaps he and his friends could be useful down the road… or not. But if they could actually produce the Onyx Throne…

“Why should I not just give you over to the tender mercies of my allies here, and have them pull the information from you?”

“We have mental defenses that would make it unlikely they could succeed,” Korwin shrugged diffidently. “But even if they did, can you trust them, sir, to pass that information on to you, rather than keep it for themselves?”

Satirnus’ smile widened, while the Korönians grew stoney-faced. Korwin went on.

“In any case, the Throne does not lie within the Republic or even in Darikaz. It would require an army and a war to acquire it. But we can bring it to you without all those complications, sir.”

Satirnus laughed again, shaking his head. “Boy, you fail to understand that I rather like those complications of armies and war! But now is not the best time to indulge them, it’s true… so a more subtle approach would seem to be indicated…”

“Marshal-Magistrate,” Grandmistress Kantal said urgently. “Even if they are telling the truth, something even I can’t be sure of in this warded tent, how could we – you – trust them to keep their word?”

“I suppose we could keep some, and let the others fetch the treasure,” Satirnus said, eyeing the group thoughtfully.

“Sir, it’s a very dangerous and hostile place we must go to, to retrieve the throne,” Vulk said, having realized there was no point in pretending anymore. “Even with our full compliment, it will be difficult…”

Satirnus turned to look at Erol and smiled. Erol felt a sudden chill.

“Your name is Erol Doritar, is it not,” the great man asked. Erol nodded reluctantly. “Is not your father Belin Doritar, the well-respected scholar… and long-time client of Senator Aric Kenorda?”

Erol said nothing, but Satirnus read the answer in his face. “Of course he is. And if I recall correctly your mother is a great poet – I remember hearing her recite some of her work at a dinner party Senator Bhelkord threw in my honor after I subdued an uprising of eastern tribes some years ago. A lovely woman as I recall.

“Now, you all seem to share the greatest of the virtues that make my own Legions great – loyalty to a comrade, as witnessed by your rescue of young Erol here. You are also clearly very clever… if perhaps not quite so clever as you think. So I make this proposition to you – bring me the Onyx Throne by sunset on Maita Lai, and you may then leave free and unharmed, last nights events forgotten and all records of Erol Doritar’s enslavement erased.

“But fail me in this, whether through betrayal or incompetence, and the Doritar family will come to ruin.”

“You threaten to kill my family?!” Vulk and Korwin had to restrain Erol as he tried to leap at Satirnus. “You’re no man of honor!”

Satirnus never so much as blinked as Erol struggled in his friends’ grasp. “Don’t be naive young man. I am a man of my word, which is all that honor really means. Do as I ask, and my word is good; reject my offer, and my word is good for that as well.

“But please, what I promise if you fail is nothing so crude as assassins in the night, or whatever melodrama you were imagining. No, in the Republic there are so many other ways to destroy a man. Or a woman. Reputation is everything, as you well know, and such a delicate thing – once damaged, almost impossible to repair.

“Senator Kenorda is not one of those who favor me, I’m afraid – seeing to it that irrefutable evidence that one of his principal clients engaged in treasonable actions found its way into the hands of the Senate would greatly embarrass him, weakening his own position. Of course it would also be fatal for the scholarly client.. and one wonders what would become of his children, then…”

Erol had stopped struggling by then, and simply glared at the Marshal-Magistrate. His friends looked grim-faced and angry. Only Korwin maintained his outer composure.

“But sir,” he said, trying to sound as reasonable as possible. “Maita Lai is only five days away! If you could give us more time –”

“No!” Satirnus cut him off with sharp chopping motion. “I leave Bremkin on the first of Emblio. If I leave with the Onyx Throne in my possession, all will be well for everyone. If not, by the second of Emblio the Doritar family will be ensnared in treason trials and scandals that will destroy them all.”

He turned to leave, motioning his Korönian allies to follow.

“At least make them take this damn collar off me!” Erol called after him.

Satirnus turned back in the doorway and smiled. “No, I rather fancy we’ll leave it on for now… perhaps when you return with the Throne…”

He turned again and was gone.

Within the hour food had been brought to the Hand, all of their possessions had been returned, and they found themselves mounted on Legion horses, preparing to head away from Bremkin…